Father of The King
by The Scarlet Raccoon
Summary: Even after death, Clopin's abusive father still haunts his dreams, Esmeralda tries to comfort him, even if she understands so little about her cousin. ONESHOT Book/movie centric


**Ah, my very first fanfiction! Please, give me advice, I'd very much love to improve my writing! Please, I hope you enjoy, short as it is.**

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"_Come on, you little shit, come on, let me break some more... Damn, your flesh is stuck to the roots, I can't sell this! You useless whelp, you stupid runt… How am I to make a fraud of this? Stop running! I'm too old to chase a mouse like you, even if you run; you leave a trail of blood, the blood I gave you! Why do you waste it?! THAT BLOOD IS WORTH SO MUCH TO HIM!!! And your head is the most priceless piece of all… He would pay so much for that head…Just to see your body dead on the doorstep of the Palace of Justice… WHY THE HELL ARE YOU SCREAMING SO MUCH YOU'RE GIVING ME A FUCKING HEADACHE YOU SOUND LIKE A FUCKING COW GIVING BIRTH!!!! SHUT UP!! __**SHUT UP!!!**__"_

He had been crying out in the sleep again, this time loud enough to wake her sleeping Djali, who normally, by their standards, could be mistaken for a corpse during his slumber. The pretty goat with the golden hooves bolted up at his lamentation without a cry. His troubled sleep was normal, but the king never had seemed to suffer a worse nightmare. La Esmeralda was already up from the dusty Persian rags that she and many others around her slept on. The gypsies around her were still in a stone-like state, too drunk to even move if they wanted to.

"Djali, would you like to come this time?" Esmeralda turned to her little goat, which simply bleated softly in reply and shook his head, the leather pouch around his neck swinging back and forth. "All right then…" she turned to the back of the large room, filled to the brim with performers and vagabonds, and picked out her cowardly poet of a husband (the only other one that wasn't in a pitiful drunken stupor) and found him staring back at her with a rather stupid look of surprise on his face. La Esmeralda rolled her eyes and carefully slipped out of the torn scraps of fabric, careful not to step on a small gypsy boy who lay right beside her on the grime coated floor. A shrill cry from him made her hasten her pace as she skillfully tip-toed up, over and across people.

"Clopin? Dear cousin, are you alright?" Esmeralda called out softly into his spacey room. His room was filled up with many of his favorite colorful items, his many costumes, his mass quantity of masks, ete. "Clopin?" she called to him again as she made her way to his bed.

She saw him again, her beloved cousin, clutching his covers for the little comfort they gave, a wet splotch was formed on his pillow from tears. Esmeralda could see even from the dim light that he was dreaming once again…

"Father… no… please…" he moaned abruptly, making Esmeralda jump a little in surprise.

"Not again… No… it hurts… why is it red? What is this red stuff?"

He started to shiver violently; a choked sob escaped his throat. La Esmeralda stood beside his bed, she was told never to wake Clopin during his sleep, by Clopin himself of course.

But why? It was hurting him, obviously.

"Father, is this syrup? Red syrup? It tastes terrible… Is that a pearl on the ground? Pick it up Daddy! Pick it up! Ooh, what is that red attached to it? Is it molded with ruby daddy? It's not shiny…"

Clopin's words were frantic, slipping over each other and sounding almost impossible to understand.

Esmeralda felt tears come to her eyes, she knew little of Clopin's father, but to disturb her cousin's sleep so, even in death, it was cruel. She found her hand reaching out to touch his, as soon her fingertips joined his hand, the grip on his sheets loosened. She saw that he was still breathing rapidly; the noticeable gap of a missing tooth came into her sights as he grinded his teeth in distress.

"Shh… hush…" La Esmeralda whispered into his ear, "The past is over, it's all right… its okay now…" she stroked his thick black hair soothingly. Clopin let out a stifled gasp and sank into a dreamless sleep. "I'm so sorry, Clopin…" she murmured.

Past cannot change the present, so why bother polluting the air with such foolishness?


End file.
